Never Assume
by It's me get over it
Summary: There is always that one person you're close with that people don't quite know what to make of your relationship with. You know what they mean to you, but others don't, their uncertainty can lead to misunderstandings and soon assumptions are made. And you know what they say about assuming…
1. It Makes

_This story popped into my head and for some reason wouldn't leave until it was written. There is a personal story that inspired this, but I won't explain that until the end of the third chapter because then it would give away what's going to happen between now and then. I'm curious about where people think I'm going to take this so please let me know your thoughts in a review. Thanks and please enjoy my story._

/*-*/ /*-*/ It makes /*-*/ /*-*/

Sometimes Effie just wished everything wasn't about smoke and mirrors. Why couldn't she have been born to a District life? Things were so much simpler for them; their enemy obvious, as well as friends; they were free to express their feelings, without everything being analysed. The people in the Districts didn't know how lucky they were.

Effie shook her head. Maybe it wasn't District life exactly that she was envying, but life away from the scrutiny of the paparazzi and media. Every action, gesture, tone and time spent in people's company scrutinised. She was sick of it.

Effie was tired. And tired was so dangerous for her. She knew she was slipping up; her cracks beginning to show. She just had to find the strength to get through this year then it would all be over.

One way or another for her.

Effie heard footsteps enter her room. She didn't need to look to know who it was.

"I had to leave before I said something I would regret, Haymitch. She made Seneca's death sound like a thing of idle gossip and I couldn't deal with that. He was so much more than just… He deserves to be remembered for more than just his death."

"I ain't here to judge you Sweetheart. Way too much shit going on for me to have the time to do that."

He went to her bedside table and turned on the radio.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, but I'm not fine at all," she confessed, looking over her ruined face. She would have to completely re-do it before she could be seen by anyone. Anyone except Haymitch that is.

"Sweetheart, I know you were close to Crane, but I didn't think you two were that close. You've gotta get past this. A lot more people are gonna die before this thing is over."

Effie was sure she was imagining it, but it almost sounded like there was a jealous tone to Haymitch's words. That was a can of worms she couldn't decide if she wanted to open or not.

No, there wasn't time for _that_ now.

"Seneca's death isn't something I can just shrug off Haymitch," she said, wiping away the last remains of her make up.

"I'm not saying you should, but you can't say it's unexpected."

"There is a world of difference between the expectation of an unpleasant event and the reality of its pain and finality!" Effie was a little shocked at the venom in her own words. She took a deep breath before she continued, both speaking and her make up reapplication. "You don't know any where near as much about me as you think you do if your expect me to be unaffected by Katniss actions."

"Because of Crane? You can't say her attitude was completely unexpected. She was emotional, and you know our girl gets stupid when she gets emotional." He looked at her closely through the mirror. "It is because of Crane." He forced her to stand, spinning her to face him, her face only half finished. "What was the deal between you and Crane? You have always been oddly vague about details, and him too; but not this time. Tell me Effie Trinket, who was Seneca Crane to you?"

His grey eyes bore into her blue, searching out any hint of a lie she might try and press through her lips. Why this mattered so much to him, Effie could only guess.

"He was the only man I have ever implicitly trusted. I trust him to never change his mind about how he feels for me; I always felt secure in my relationship with him," she answered, her voice and eyes unwavering.

"You loved him," Haymitch ground out, his voice a mix of wonder and pained disgust taking a half step back.

"Unconditionally," Effie agreed. "And I know he loved me unconditionally back."

There was more she wanted to say, but obviously Haymitch didn't want to hear it. He stormed out of the room. Effie suspected that if he could have, he would have slammed the doors behind him.

Effie wasn't sure how she expected Haymitch to react, but that wasn't it. She sighed wearily. She should go after him and clarify what she said, but she was tired; so tired.

Effie could either help her Tributes, or her Mentor, she didn't have the mental strength to deal with both at the moment. And facing Haymitch would be harder than facing two young people she'd grown to care for and was sending into the Arena for a second time. Now was not the time for her to face this thing between her and Haymitch. Not that there ever was time for them to explore or even name what this was.

'And there never will be,' she realised sadly. 'We will either be victorious, and he will not have time for me, or we lose and we'll all be dead.'

Finishing off her reapplied make up, she looked over herself one more time in the mirror. Double checking for any obvious indication she'd shed a few tears.

Nodding at not finding any, she muttered to herself, "Eyes bright, chin up, and smile on."


	2. An Ass Of You

/*-*/ /*-*/ an ass of you /*-*/ /*-*/

Haymitch ran a hand over his face. He was beyond exhausted. That girl of his sure did a number this time and he wasn't sure he could blame her if she wanted to give up now.

He'd seen it all on the live telecast. The camera had just found Prim attending to the injured Capitol children and Katniss calling out to her when the next wave of bombs went off.

He was too old for this shit. His heart couldn't take much more bad news.

"Yes sir, how can I help you?" the nurse behind the desk asked, sounding as weary as him, but more polite than he could ever manage.

"My name is Haymitch Abernathy. I'm looking for Katniss Everdeen, she was brought here with burns," he explained.

The nurse studied his face for a few moments, no doubt determining if he was who he said. Whatever he was looking for, the nurse must have found. He turned to the computer and typed away before address him again.

"She's in the intensive burns care unit, level three." He pointed behind Haymitch, "Take one of those lifts to level three; turn right and there will be a nurse station. Someone there will be able to help you further."

"Thank you," Haymitch sighed in relief.

Finally someone willing to be helpful. He turned to take the nurse's directions. The phone rang and the nurse quickly answered it.

"Panem Central Hospital, how can I help you?" Haymitch froze. "Give me one moment I'll put you through to her."

 _'Panem Central was the closest. They took her and the other surviving prisoners there.'_ That's what Fulvia had said. That means Effie is meant to be here!

Should he find out? They didn't part on the best of terms, but they were still friends. Sort of. The very thought of being able to lay his eyes on her after all this time had his heart racing, and a feeling that was too much like longing sprung in his chest.

That was that then.

He turned back to the nurse and wore an apologetic look.

"Sorry, but can you check if someone else is here too?"

"Sure. Surname?"

"Trinket, Effie."

The nurse typed away at the nearby computer again.

"I'm sorry nothing under that name."

 _'Trinket is my stage name Haymitch; new job, new name. It helps keep public life and family life worlds apart.'_

"Try: Ravens, Mia."

He vaguely remembered her saying that's the name she'd model under before becoming an Escort.

"I'm sorry nothing under either."

"Try both surnames with the first name Euphemia instead," Haymitch pressed.

"I'm sorry sir; there's only person we have under either surname, and he's a long term patient and has been here for months."

Haymitch felt a heavy weight descend on his chest again. Maybe he'd been looking forward to seeing her more than he'd been willing to admit.

"Okay then," he muttered, nodding his thanks and turning to go check on his girl.

He mindlessly followed the nurse's previous instructions and before he'd really noticed it, he was standing before a glass window watching his girl on fire with doctors and other medical staff flying around her like moths around a flame.

It was everything catching up with him now that the Capitol was taken. That's what he has to keep telling himself. This hole and unnamed heavy weight in his chest had _nothing_ to do with his inability to locate his Escort.

Nothing at all.

They were just putting Katniss into some healing-status-chamber-thing when he heard two pairs of foot steps approach. Turning his head he saw Plutarch and Fulvia had joined him.

"What have the doctors said?" Plutarch asked.

"They've stabilised her. She's gonna be in the chamber-thingy till they believe the skin grafts have taken." He chuckled humourlessly. "She's lucky to be alive, they said. It ain't gonna feel like luck to her."

Thankfully the two Capitols didn't comment and joined him in silent vigil over their broken Mockingjay.

Haymitch was the first to break the silence.

"Any word on Peeta?"

"He's been found, unharmed. They've moved him into the President's Mansion with the rest of Thirteen's Command Central. It's organised for him to meet with a therapist every day so they can continue to help him sort through his memories."

Haymitch nodded glad the boy was fine too. Well, as fine as he was going to be after what the Capitol had done to him. He should check on him in person. Haymitch decided he would do that as soon as he knew Katniss had at least regained consciousness.

"Where did Effie get moved to?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully casual.

His two companions didn't answer him; they just looked at him confused by the question.

"I asked at the desk they said she wasn't here."

"Haymitch we've just come from her room. She's here, in an induced coma while they determine all the things done to her, but definitely here at this hospital," Fulvia answered.

"What name did you ask for?" Plutarch asked, he was giving Haymitch a curious look.

"Trinket and Ravens."

"Those were both stage names. Neither are her real name," Fulvia commented, joining Plutarch in giving Haymitch an inquisitive look.

Haymitch carefully kept his face blank as he fought the urge to yell at them both that he realised that, but didn't want to admit he didn't really know her surname.

"What name is she here under then?"

"Her real name," Plutarch answered with a shrug causing Haymitch to clench his jaw.

After a moments silence, Fulvia supplied the information he wanted to know.

"Euphemia Crane."

Instantly Haymitch felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Crane?!

She had been married to Seneca? All those rumours about them had been true. That's why she took his death so hard.

Why did he feel like the floor under him was spinning?

 _'I've always felt secure in my relationship with him.' … 'I know he loved me unconditionally back.'_

How stupid could he be? Did he really think those fleeting flirtations had meant something; that one drunken kiss was more than just poor judgement due to alcohol? Why did his insides feel so cold at the thought of her going home at the end of the Games to be with Crane?

He didn't want to think about how much time he spent in Thirteen thinking about her; longing to see; heck even _hear_ her stupid annoying voice.

It was harder and harder to admit that he felt nothing for her, because this nothing was burning his insides at the very thought of her being Mrs Crane.

* * *

 _I'd say trust me, but shouldn't be trusted with story-lines. I enjoy the unpopular and often am willing to entertain something that goes against what I normally enjoy myself..._

 _Thank you to all those who reviewed, one more chapter to go. I will update and finish this off tomorrow at some point. (It is currently insanely early for me, but MIDNIGHT STAR WARS has me very awake.)_

 _Please drop me review and let me know what you think of this chapter. Do you like/dislike this turn of events?_


	3. And ME

/*-*/ /*-*/ and me. /*-*/ /*-*/

Plutarch had left Effie with a lot to think about. She could take the job of Escorting Katniss one final time and save her own skin for good, or she could refuse to repeat what and who she was before the War and face her, ahem, 'trial for crimes against the Districts'. Plutarch didn't need to make it any more obvious than that. Effie had long ago learnt to read between the lines.

There was not going to be a fair trial. This was Coin's way of killing off all those who had been involved with the Games, but doing so in the name of 'justice'. And if anyone wanted to speak out they would appear to be going against the trials and justice, not against the power hungry dictator that is rising to take another's place.

Maybe she should face the trial. It's not like there is any one who would really miss her and at least in death she will be free to be with her family again. Isn't that what all Victors claimed; there is a freedom in death that can't be found in living.

Could she face the Couture and make up again after all she's been through? What she once thought of as a mask and armour, she now sees only as a confiding weight that is likely to suffocate her. Could she keep the tenuous hold she has on her sanity and get through Snow execution?

Effie is startled out of her thoughts by the chair beside her bed being scrapped across the floor. The sudden noise is nothing compared to surprise that shoots through her at who her visitor is. This must be a mistake. She doesn't say anything; just stares at him. The doctor's warned her they may be some side effects from her medication, but she didn't think hallucinations were mentioned.

"Princess-"

She startled again. It both was and at the same time it wasn't his voice; the same timbre and way he would use that moniker for her, but sounded more strained, like he was afraid to even use it. He seems to have aged half a dozen years in less than one. Not that Effie suspected she looked any better.

"Effie, it's…it's good to see you…"

Effie waited to see how he was going to finish that; 'brought down to the District's level', 'awake', 'alive', 'looking almost human for once'?

"It's good to see you."

"Is it?" she croaked out hollowly.

If she had more energy Effie thinks it would have sounded bitter, but she was far too tired for that.

"Yes," he answered quickly and breathlessly.

His hand came to rest on her bed by her hand, like he wanted to hold it, but has thought better of it at the last moment. She watch dispassionately as his fingers twitched as if wanting to touch her hand.

Effie didn't know what to say to him, so she let the silence stretch out between them. Haymitch began to get twitchier and he was the first to break the silence.

"Plutarch told you about the deal we managed to get you, yeah?"

"I haven't decided if I'll take it yet," she softly answered.

" _If_ you'll take it? What the hell does that mean? You do realise that the other option is certain death, don't you?" Haymitch asked angrily, his voice slowly rising. "That's not an option!"

Somewhere deep inside Effie rejoiced at seeing that spark in Haymitch again. He was always a fighter; a survivor. She wasn't made of the same stern stuff.

"Who is going to shed a tear over my death Haymitch? There is no one left to miss me."

"I'd miss you," he shakily whispered. "I _have_ missed you."

His pinkie twitched against hers and she looked at it surprised when her hand reached for his of its own accord.

"I'm so tired Haymitch. I just want it all to be over. I want to see my family and loved ones again. I miss them all so much. I miss…"

Haymitch's hand disappeared from her grip and he sat back in his chair.

"Seneca," he offered.

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes closing as a tear made its way down her cheek.

What would she give to see him again? Those blue eyes twinkling in a tease as he ran a hand over his stupid beard to hide his smile; and that beard! It was only ever meant to have been a joke, and then suddenly it was his signature look. She never quite knew which of them the joke had been on in the end.

She missed him so much.

"I think your husband wouldn't mind waiting a bit longer to see you."

That had Effie snapping her eyes open.

Husband?!

"Haymitch," she shakily called to him. "I've never been married."

"Yeah you have," he retorted gruffly.

Her memory over everything that happened in her torture may be foggy in parts, but Effie definitely knew she had never exchanged any wedding vow.

"No, I haven't."

"Of course you have; Euphemia _Crane_." This he said flicking a finger to knock her hospital wrist band.

Effie couldn't wipe the confusion off her face.

"That's always been my real name."

"Yeah," Haymitch agreed, dejectedly.

Effie saw him refuse to meet her eye and look all around the room instead.

"No, Haymitch, that is the name I was born with," she clarified.

"But…" Haymitch's eyes snapped to hers. "But you and Seneca…"

"Loved each other; yes. But it was _never_ anything romantic. Seneca was my brother. Getting a job as a Gamemaker is considered prestigious; he wasn't expected to change his names. Less than a half-dozen people knew of our relation, so we made a joke of a romantic relationship to annoy our mother who'd forced me into a modelling career when I was twelve."

"But," Haymitch stood and paced beside her bed, "But he said… You said…"

"We never commented definitively on us as having a romantic relationship. We always had fun talking about love, and playing up our closeness, but we essentially let the media make what they wanted of us." Effie felt the first smile cross her face since the Tributes were sent to the Arena. "Oh the fun we had creating mock scenes in public when one of us was actually seeing someone, or that one time when he got me to help him end a relationship he didn't know how to get out of."

Effie was smiling, but her eyes filled with tears at the thought of her gone brother. She fought to prevent them from falling, but it was really inevitable.

"I miss him, and I just want to see him again. I've never gone this long without him before, and I don't know if I can. I will go for the trial. There is no one here that would truly miss me or needs me. Not the children, and in the long run, neither will you Haymitch. This is just misplaced guilt talking now."

She said this not looking him in the eye, but staring straight ahead of her not really seeing the blank wall.

Haymitch sat on the edge of the bed, drawing her attention back to the here and now. He took her hand in his again, this time with both of his.

"It's not guilt, and the kids _would_ miss you. Peeta especially."

"Not Peeta," she softly corrected instantly.

She used her right arm to move her gown revealing an ugly scar that travelled over her shoulder, and went down her chest too. It was red and still raised. Obviously it had been very deep wound.

"Peeta gave me this. He hates me. He wishes I was dead. At least for once I can give him what he wants."

"That wasn't Peeta," Haymitch ground out, his grip on her hand almost painfully tight. "He wasn't himself. He's getting better; sometimes he's his old self."

"Who is their self after all of this? We're all broken and we'll never be the people we were before the Games and the War tarnished us. We can never go back to who we were. He'll never be that sweet boy I Reaped; I dragged him into this madness. He should hate me."

"He doesn't, Effie. Trust me; neither me nor the kids hate you."

She'd once said that the only person she implicitly trusted was Seneca. And Seneca had told her to trust Haymitch before he went to meet with President Snow after the end of the 74th Games. Despite all his teasing about what was, or wasn't, going on between her and her Mentor; he trusted the District man to look out for his little sister.

But that was before the War.

Before Haymitch left her behind.

Twice.

She was just so tired. Tired and numb. Could she really trust him when she didn't even know what was going through her own head?

A squeeze on her hand brought her out of her thoughts again. A gentle hand on her cheek had her blue eyes locked with his grey ones.

"Princess; you have to take the deal. Stay alive. If not for the kids, then for me. Take this deal for me. I need you to make it through this. I'm rubbish without you. I need you to… I need you."

She wanted to call him a liar, but she couldn't find the lie in his grey eyes. Could he… Could he actually be saying the truth?

Before she could ponder this much further he leaned forward and his lips brushed against hers. The contact was light, but it took the breath out of her lungs.

The spark that travelled through her body shocked her. She hadn't felt anything like that in a very long time. She could feel it all the way to her toes and with it a desire to keep going spread through her.

Her right hand came up to his face and brushed against his stubble that resembles more of beard now.

"Kiss me again. Please, Haymitch make me feel."

His eyes searched hers for only a moment before his lips were on hers again. This one was hard, it was filled with all the emotions that neither of them had ever dared put a name to that had simmer between them for _years_.

It was sweet.

It was bitter.

It was everything she'd been search for to give her a reason to keep going.

Haymitch made her feel stronger. He made her feel like she should, she _could_ , fight on.

He gave her a reason to live.

* * *

 _And DONE! Didn't quite know where to end this, but thought here was as good as any._

 _This was inspired by an actual event where I went away with some family and members of our tennis club to a tournament and someone I kind of knew from school was there too. The person from school just jumped to the assumption that I spent the whole time with my boyfriend. Every time they saw me I was with this guy and we were some times with some of the others from my club. We played doubles together and always watched the other play, making the other smile and laugh afterwards and bringing food/drink as rewards for wins or commiseration if we lost, along with a teasing comment to prevent the other from getting big headed or too upset. Forget the fact I was spending that time with my BROTHER, who I didn't see much of during the school year because of study, and him having his own life no longer at home with our parents like me._

 _So I thought people are always assuming a connection between Effie and Seneca (lovers, ex-lovers, childhood/school-friends, something!) what if I put another spin on it? The story and chapter titles are my favourite quote about assumption and a helpful way to remember how to spell it. "Never 'assume', it makes an 'ass' of 'u' and 'me'._

 _Please drop me a review and let me know what you think. Did you pick it?_


End file.
